


Fires Are Her Water

by WhiskyTangoFoxtrot



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyTangoFoxtrot/pseuds/WhiskyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories of Dragon Age: Inquisition that must take place somewhere within thirty feet of an open flame. Hopefully this will evolve into a nice romance for Cassandra and Varric because I adore them and ship them to all corners of the world. Also some f!quiz/Blackwall, because everything needs some salt.</p>
<p>Enjoy, gentle reader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bathtub Boot Screech

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken liberties with the rules of Wicked Grace. Sorry if it's wrong. Also, I do not have a beta reader, so if you spot any inconsistencies please give me a note.
> 
> Description and notes updated 4/12/15

Hinterlands

After a long day in the saddle, searching for supply caches and killing bears, the Herald's party rode out to the west to set up camp near the farming settlement. They found a lovely spot at a bend in the river, sheltered on one side by a huge jutting boulder, and after a day of travel and battles, the light of the fire was warming and welcome.

So the camp gathered, and Blackwall built the pyre up in such a way that it blazed four feet in the air, and Varric, Cassandra, and Revas Lavellan sat around it, interspersed with other soldiers and requisition specialists and Scout Harding's company. There were so many people at the small camp, it seemed to Revas.

She smoothed her thumb over the quills of one of her arrows, testing the glue of the fletching. One of Bull's men, Krem, sat to her right and sharpened his blade. He smiled at her over his work, and she smiled back, grateful for his silence. He was one of the few people she could just sit with. He looked back down at his sword and began rasping back and forth across it with his stone again. She looked out across the camp.

Varric was surrounded by a small group of people, telling a story about Hawke, and reveling in the attention and loud laughter as he recounted a particularly interesting battle with some slavers. To Revas' surprise, Cassandra sat a short distance away, cleaning her armor and pretending not to hang on every word. Varric, also, pretended not to watch her as the crowd dispersed, moving to the wagon with the kegs. The soldier contingent slowly emptied from the Herald's area of the camp, (even Krem smiled apologetically as he took his leave, saluting as he went) and soon the only ones left were Cassandra, Blackwall, and Varric.

Varric looked round then disappeared into the night, as the other companions settled around the fire. The Herald sat on a log close to the tents, still checking her arrows. Cassandra brought the last of her armor around, and the cloth, and the polish. The Seeker smiled at Revas, and tilted her head. "Herald? I am almost done with mine. Sharpen my blade, and I will clean your armor... If you like." Revas grinned at Cassandra and said, "Yes, please. I thank you." 

"No need." Cassandra helped Lavellan pull off her tunic. Revas took the seeker's weapon, and the whetstone Krem had abandoned, and began to studiously sharpen the poisoned axe the other dark-haired woman carried, even as Cassandra polished and poked at the armor. Varric returned, holding a deck of cards and two full green glass bottles. He smiled as he saw the ladies at work. Almost at the same time, Blackwall emerged from his tent with tools and a piece of carving wood, that was starting to resemble an Inquisition soldier. He sat, near Cassandra, and the two warriors nodded at each other as they settled in.

Varric opened one of the bottles and walked to the Inquisitor first. "Revas Lavellan," he began seriously, holding it out towards her. '"Let's get drunk." She laughed and her voice lilted. She sat up straighter and accepted the drink, "Not very gentlemanly..." She chuckled. Then she tipped the bottle up and swallowed deeply. "...but greatly appreciated."

Blackwall barked a laugh. "Varric a gentleman?"

"Hey, Hero, I brought the drinks, let's not have a round of pick on the dwarf." He uncorked the other bottle, took a swig and handed it to the other man. For a while, everything was quiet and a lull settled over the other camp, the only sounds coming from the fire, the river, and the whetstone. "Cassandra, how's this?" Revas asked, holding out the weapon. It gleamed in the firelight. The Seeker gulped from the bottle between them, then nodded. "That will be fine, thank you. I'm done here too." From across the fire, Varric said, "I brought cards. Want to play some Wicked Grace?"

Cassandra scoffed. "I'm terrible at it." The women carried their equipment back to their tent. Cassandra came out first and sat down next to the handsome dwarf. "I don't know the rules and I cannot bluff." "You'll get better," he said. "Plus you can use that stare to your advantage. Just look pissed, Seeker, and your opponents will cower. So, the basics....."

\---

Revas came out of her tent with a pouch in her hand and walked around the bend in the river, behind the huge rock, and the noises of the camp became muffled. As she walked downstream, it got quieter and quieter. She set her good nets in the river. Hopefully in the morning there would be plenty of fish for breakfast.

She heard a rustle behind her and whirled, belt knife in hand. A figure loomed behind her in the night and she reacted instinctively, tripping the would-be assailant, knocking him to the ground, and straddling him, her knife at his throat.

"Ow." He said. "Going to stab me, my lady?" Blackwall smiled up at her and she lowered her knife, but didn't get up. They had been dancing around each other since he decided to join the Inquisition. They flirted, they laughed. But he always said, "Let's not get carried away," and went back into the cottage. And always before she could figure out if he was serious or not. It was frustrating!

"I'm thinking about it." She replied. "I could always hide behind Cassandra." She moved to stand, but his hands caught her legs, holding her down.

"You don't have to get up, my lady." His hands were warm and they kneaded her thighs, slowly moving around to her back. (Stop this now,) he thought. (A one such as you does not deserve a woman a good as this.)

She crossed her arms over her breasts and tried not to squirm. Fehnedis, his hands, the way they moved was tightening her belly. She didn't want him to stop, but she said, "Maybe I should." His hands stopped moving but he didn't take them away. "I clearly remember you saying that I couldn't afford to think of you as anything more than just another soldier." 

"And maybe you can't. And this," he said, beginning again with his hands, making slow circles on her back, "...is a terrible idea." She pulled the pins out of her hair and it fell around her face in pitch-black waves.

She scooted back further on his body, settling her hips over his. "Doesn't have to be."

He groaned and used his mass to leverage them over, grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head, pressed his groin into her thigh. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, the sounds of soldiers' camp, the fires, and the river burbling around them. Using his left hand he secured both of hers , and his right he slid behind her head and gripped her hair. She tried to control her reaction, but her breath quickened and her back arched, pushing her small breasts into his chest. He pulled a little harder and she gasped, eyes widened, looking at him with... need. "Blackwall," she began.

He could not resist her anymore. He had tried avoiding her. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her, how she might move under his touch. How she would sound, taste, feel. And she was right here, underneath him, wanting him.

His mouth crushed hers and he let go of her hands. The kiss was messy, lips and tongues clashing. His teeth nibbled her lower lip and she groaned and wrapped herself around him, arching her back and twining fingers in his hair, his beard. He released her lips and nuzzled the side of her neck. He felt, more than saw, her smile and he looked up at her. "Do you regret that?" Revas asked. She tightened her grip on his hair as he tried to pull away. He was forced to look her in the eyes. They were boring into him, glittering like bits of shale in the moonlight.

"I fear we both will, my lady." He said shakily. "But I find I do not want to stop."

"Then don't." She said, pulling his head down for another kiss. It was as though something broke between them, and he gave in to her completely, ravishing her lips. His hands roamed over her body and her legs tightened around his waist. Heat radiated off her in waves as she ground herself against him. He growled in his throat and deepened the kiss, hands reaching under her tunic to graze her breasts.

Maker, she was so soft. She took one of his hands and guided it between her legs. (Maker, forgive me.) he thought as his fingers brushed over the seams of her trousers. She whimpered and squirmed as he stroked her over the fabric and buried her face in his shoulder, biting his coat, making him rub his newly formed erection harder against her thigh. One of her small warm hands reached down to touch him and he pressed, hard, on the little nub between her legs, making small circles with his thumb while she rubbed him.

He untied the waist of her leather pants and she whimpered as he pulled them partially down her legs. He was still kissing her, harder, more searching this time. His fingers reached for her again, this time slipping inside her and rolling around in the sensitive folds. His other hand was still in her hair and he pulled at the roots, dragging a rasping moan out of her throat. He covered her mouth with his. He kept working his hand in and out and marveled at her sighs. She bucked as his thumb began to circle her nub and it was not long before he muffled her final cries with a deep kiss. She released his lips and her head lolled back, then she panted for a moment, and kicked her trousers off the rest of the way. She pulled him down between her thighs and undid his pants, shoving them down his legs.

"My lady," he said, and looked up at her face. Her hair lay fanned out on the grass and her face was flushed. The shadows of the leaves in the moonlight carved her cheekbones sharply, and echoed the slopes of her tattoos, as she turned her head back to look at him.

"Please," she sighed. "Please,now." He moved over her, groaned as he pushed into her and she whined as he filled her up. Her legs tightened around him and he slammed into her, hard and fast. The river babbled quietly nearby and her gasps whispered in his ear they coupled, and in that moment there was no one else in the world. She murmured his name, and what sounded like Elven curses as they both neared climax. "Harder," she moaned into his chest, and he obliged, pushing her over the edge. She tightened around him as she came again and he followed her, gasping as he spent into her. They lay there, still entwined for a moment.

She giggled. He looked at her and could not help but smile broadly. He kissed her fast on the mouth and leaned back, sliding out of her. He reached behind them for her pants and then passed them over. "My lady."

This time when he said it it had a note of.... Possession? She smiled at the thought and pulled on her trousers as he righted himself. He took both her hands in his and hauled them both to their feet, then pulled her close into his arms. He kissed her again and laughed ruefully. "The others sent me to see what you were doing." 

"Before you interrupted me? I was setting nets to catch our breakfast." He let go of her and Revas began to fix her hair, twisting it and pinning it into a loose chignon. She smiled at him, and looked up shyly, "Though I preferred my... Other activities."

He unashamedly watched her ass as she strolled ahead of him back to camp. No, he wasn't a good man. But for her, he could try to be. He would be the man she deserved.

\---

Back at the fire, Varric was still trying to teach the Seeker how to play Wicked Grace, and both were clearly a little intoxicated . They were sitting next to each other, shoulder to shoulder, heads close together, staring at the cards in their hands. They were facing away from Lavellan and Blackwall, towards the fire. He was explaining, "See, I have two cards of serpents and songs each. Because the knight is the lead card, virtues have more value. So even though the songs have soldiers on them and the serpents are Queens, the songs are worth more."

"Explain again, how are virtue and vice determined?" She slurred, reaching across him for the bottle. His shoulders stiffened as her arm brushed his chest. She took a short pull and handed the bottle to the dwarf. He drank too, and set it back where it was, on the opposite side of himself from Cassandra.

He hoped she didn't notice that he set it there deliberately, so she would reach across him and brush herself against him. (Pull it together, man,) he thought to himself. (She would kill you for even thinking it.)

His mouth moved before his brain did. "I supposed that entirely depends on what you're doing." His voice was deeper than he intended, more flirtatious, and Cassandra eyed him suspiciously. He winced and mentally braced himself for the Seeker's indignation, but was pleasantly surprised when she threw her head back and laughed! It was a deep laugh, throaty, but pretty. (Wait, now you think her laugh is pretty? Are you fucking daft? Maker's balls, Tethras! This is the fucking Seeker!)

"I suppose you are right." She said, "but I meant the game." She turned to face him. "Though I imagine you know something of vices. You did bring the Bathtub Boot Screech." She reached for the bottle again, this time pausing, leaned across him, with her hand around the neck of it. She said quietly, "I do wonder if you intend to leave the bottle over here."

(Maker's balls.) Her face was tilted up to his and all he had to to was move his head down and their lips would touch. He was calculating whether or not she would stab him when--

Blackwall loudly stomped on the nearest twig as he entered the campsite with Revas, and Cassandra and Varric sprang apart as if burned. They did not look at each other. Cassandra started gathering cards and Varric perched himself on the nearest log to the fire. The awkwardness lasted about ten seconds until Varric said, too loudly, "Herald! Hero! Want to play cards?"

Revas smiled and said, "Are there drinks?" Blackwall snorted and sat back down with his carving. "I could have a drink," he acquiesced. "But no, thank you, I won't play cards." He accepted the copper cup of clear liquid Varric poured for him and began to shave little strips of wood off the partially carved block in his hand, flipping them into the slowly dwindling fire. They sparked, creating pretty flashes of light on the river's surface.

Cassandra shuffled awkwardly. "Are you familiar with the concept of open hands?" She said to Varric and Revas. "Ah, practice play, yes?" Lavellan asked. "I think it would help you. Tell me, Cassandra, when you were training to be a Seeker of Truth, did you study any... academic pursuits?"

"Well, yes, of course."

Varric understood immediately where Revas' mind was. It was part of what made them such fast friends. He chimed in, "What was your favorite subject?"

"I enjoyed history and mathematics." She replied, setting down the deck. "I don't see how that applies to playing cards."

"Of course," Lavellan grinned. She risked a glance at Blackwall. He was carving, but the small smile on his face brought to mind what they had just shared. She blushed a little, taking a slug off the bottle, and looked back to Cassandra.

"But...mathematics. Cards are about odds. See here. How many suits in the deck?" Cassandra frowned. "Five."

"How many face cards of each suit? How many soldiers and battalions?" Varric continued. "You can predict the status of your hand by figuring those factors, based on the number of players and the discards on the table."

Realization dawned on Cassandra. "Oh. Oh! I did not think of it that way!"

"Well, all right then, Seeker, let's try this again." Varric said as he picked up the deck and shuffled smoothly. "Let's deal us all open hands, and we'll see if that helped you any."

In the hours that followed, they proceeded to playing the game as normal, and even though Cassandra would have lost her shirt (not such a bad thing, Varric's traitorous brain decided) she did, finally, get a grasp on the rules. Eventually, the party in the soldiers' camp died down and one of the scouts rolled by to stand watch. The companions dragged themselves to their tents, drunk and happy.


	2. Requisition Something Else. No Bees!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are in the early stages of the Inquisition, and Dorian rides the Bull, and Revas Lavellan contemplates an interesting offer. And fish. Lots and lots of fish.

Storm Coast

Revas sighed as she stepped out of her tent. (A lovely morning on the coast, indeed,) she thought as a wave of raindrops pelted her in the face. She and Dorian both had stopped trying to kohl their eyes while they were here, because of Iron Bull's japes about raccoons, and because, truly, it was a lost cause. For a moment Revas regretted leaving Blackwall behind. It would be nice to have someone warm to hold in this ridiculous damp, cold weather. But their relationship was tentative enough that they had decided on some time apart, to see if... (Never mind,) she dismissed her train of thought. (We will speak when I return to Haven.)

Her leathers were lined with lambswool, and so she was as dry and warm as she could be as she approached the hooded campfire to get some breakfast. Today it was porridge with dried fruit, and lionfish, salted and roasted over open flames, courtesy of her nets and Requisition Officer Usom. She sat down on the nearest log with a plate and a cup of boiling hot tea, beginning to eat her meal heartily.

She was about halfway done when Solas appeared. He had cast a small barrier above his head, and the rain made him a sort of hat, conical and sloped downward over his eyes. He took some porridge and a mug of hot water, and sat down on the log next to her. He expanded his barrier around the Herald. "A good morning to you, Lethallan."

"Hahren, thank you for sharing your magic with me." She grinned back and took a sip of tea, grateful for dry food. "Are you prepared for the day?"

"I am ready to close the southern rift. Before I came to fetch you, I walked the fade there last night, and witnessed a few fascinating events." He ate a bit of porridge and sipped his water. "Notably, the demons the rift brings out are quite strong. You may consider bringing a few of those grenades Sera is so fond of."

"No." Revas said firmly. "Not the bees. Not after last time." She grimaced, remembering one of the flasks slipping off her belt and crashing to the ground, and then her frantic, screeching sprint to roll in the nearest stream. The other companions had gone without her for two days as she recovered from her bites, and her embarrassment.

"Perhaps the pitch, then? I think it would be useful." He finished his meal and his drink, and held them out into the rain to rinse his dishes.

"Maybe. But if I drop one and get stuck I'm blaming you." His lips quirked in a half smile. "As you say, Lethallan. Did you enjoy the other things we saw?"

"The legion of singing warriors....did they all die?" She asked. She'd wept with the beauty of their harmonies, as they bounced off unknown mountain passes. The army went to war, in an Age long ago, but he only took her on their march. She did not witness the battle.

"Ah. You enjoyed the music then? It means much to me, to be able to share it with someone else." He took another bite of porridge and chewed thoughtfully. "A few survived, and their children became Elvehn."

"That's amazing." She said. "Hahren, if you would be comfortable, I would like to meet one of your friends. A spirit?"

"Perhaps, in time. Or perhaps, it would be of more value to you to learn more of the Fade itself." He replied before he moved away, taking the barrier with him. Revas winced at the water streaming down on her again.

Dorian emerged from the tent he was sharing with Bull and said, "Do you mean to speak so loudly?" He paused and tilted his face up to the rain. He rubbed his eyes and said, "I may have had too much to drink last night. My head is throbbing."

From inside the tent, Bull rumbled a loud laugh and Dorian turned around and shouted into the flaps, "You shut up, Bull!"

The Mage helped himself to some food and tea, and seemed to perk up as he finished, though he sat on the log rather... gingerly. "So what is the glorious Inquisitorial plan today?" 

"We will be closing the rift in the waterfall cave, and hopefully finding the last place the Darkspawn have been coming out of. .It's about an hour's walk from here. We should be done with it by sundown. Then tomorrow, back to Haven."

She smiled a little, thinking about who was waiting for her there.

"Ah, are we possibly thinking about a hirsute and grouchy Grey Warden who refuses to bathe?" Dorian waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Or I could be thinking what a Tevinter mage looks like with an arrow in his ass." She replied sweetly. She took a sip of her tea, and promptly spat it out when The Iron Bull emerged from the tent he shared with Dorian and said, "Dorian, you left these on my pillow." The huge Qunari held up a pair of silky red small clothes.

The Mage groaned, and his face drained of color. "Bull," Dorian began, but the larger man was already booming out his deep rumbling voice.

"Did you leave them as a favor?" Bull smiled widely as Revas gaped at them. "Or did you leave them so you could come back and get them? You sly dog!"

"It appears," Dorian said weakly, "That discretion is not one of your strong suits."

Revas was suddenly very glad that Solas had visited her dreams the previous night -- when they traveled the Fade together they heard nothing outside of it. She cleared her throat and took another sip of tea. "Well. Um. Well?"

"Hah, Revas, who knew SunBlonde Vint-9 was the key?" He clapped the smaller man on the back.

"I am sure the Inquisitor does not want to know how you got into my pants." Dorian glowered at Bull, who at least had the grace to look a little sheepish. Revas recovered enough to chuckle, "I'm sure Bull will tell me whatever I want to know. Probably on the way to the rift."

\---

Solas had not lied about the demons at the rift. He had suggested grenades that morning, and finally convinced Revas to at least bring a few bottles of Antivan Fire to supplement her skills with the bow. They had proved advantageous in defeating the demons, and Solas was pleased when, with respect, the Herald asked him to close the Darkspawn hole. It felt good to be the one to cement the final stone. So it was with gratitude that he turned to Revas as they strode back to camp and said, "Would you like to walk the fade with me tonight?"

"Is there something you wish me to see, Hahren?" She asked, scowling as her shoes sunk into the mud. "I cannot always choose the path the Fade takes me," he replied. "I begin to think, however, that you might be taught to walk the Fade as I do. I wish to explore the use of your Mark. That is, if you would be interested." Revas had her back to him, so he didn't see her face, but she tilted her head to one side and did not speak for a few minutes. They walked on, as Bull and Dorian bickered behind them.

There was a new note of affection in their voices, but there was a lot of "Vishante kaffas!" and loud rumbling laughter as well. Revas chuckled and looked back at Solas, "They're going to be insufferable."

Dorian piped up, "I am never insufferable! A bit pretentious maybe, but only about food. And books, and wine. And soap."

"Clearly," said Iron Bull, smirking, "Not men."

"Kaffas, Bull!" Dorian whirled to face The Iron Bull, and started to march towards him.

Solas and Revas took the opportunity to flee. The walked very quickly, in silence, for a few minutes, and the shouting (and other sounds) bled back into the forest after a few minutes.

Revas slowed her pace in front of Solas and grabbed her chin with her left hand, seeming to gather her thoughts before she turned back to the apostate.

"I would be honored, Hahren." Her silver eyes flashed brightly as she smiled under her enchanter's cowl, and drops of rain pooled and beaded off the hood. She exhaled quickly. "I would like to learn, if you can teach me. It seems to me that it is unwise to turn down any knowledge."

"A considered philosophy." He smiled and cast another barrier around them. The bluish light seemed to catch on the jewels on his necklace, and they flicked briefly off the raindrops, too, so the light of the barrier was magnified in places, a sparkling half orb on the beach, extending into the surf.

"I admire your open mindedness. We will begin tonight. Prepare yourself by eating lightly. Consume no alcohol."

"Very well, Hahren." She strode into camp and waved at Officer Usom. He waved back and gestured to the nets in his hand. They were full of small white fish. "Fish for dinner, again?" She teased. "Can't you requisition us something else?"

Usom's laugh boomed out over the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day soon the Cassaric dork will come. But right now I need to sleep.


	3. The Bane of All Bears in Fereldan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time travel sucks. We have some angst and some Wicked Grace. And some funny shit happens, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to fans of The Wheel of Time, and to Mr. Jordan himself, but I do kind of think of the fade as I do his "Tel'Aran'Rhiod" and in my mind similar rules would apply. If you're not into Robert Jordan, but you read Dragon Age fic, I won't at all be offended if you set this down or close this window immediately and go find a copy of The Eye of the World. (In fact, I beseech you to.) Though to be fair, the dream world doesn't come into play until like book four. Still, dude, worth your time.
> 
> Also, in my head canon, when the words pop up in the lower left of the screen, the character in question is really thinking, "I approve of that."

3

Frostback foothills

The party was returning to Haven after the harrowing experience in Redcliffe. Yes, Revas recruited the rebel mages, but the knowledge of and experience in the future had taken a toll on both Revas and Dorian. Revas kept seeing Cassandra's eyes, flashing red with the Blighted lyrium, and hearing Varric's sonorous, echoing voice saying, "To my last breath, Seeker." She could clearly picture a demon tossing Cassandra aside, dead, like she was a rag doll, and another running Varric through with its claws. And arrows sticking out of what was left of Leiliana as she fought madly, shouting the Chant. Dorian dragged her through the portal, and she saw nothing more. 

It took every bit of her composure to handle the subsequent arrest of Magister Alexius, and meeting with the King of Ferelden and Fiona. With the mages as allies, perhaps they could close the rift. Or perhaps all of Thedas would be marching on Haven within the week. It was hard to say. All she could see in her mind were the red lyrium addled corpses of her friends. 

When they finally mounted for the trip back, Revas took the lead, saying nothing. They rode in silence until the sun began to set, and finally, they found a suitable place to camp. Cassandra took her horse and led it to the nearby stream as Revas set up the tent they shared. The Herald found herself getting lost in the work, using the small hammer to drive the stakes into the ground, slamming the iron tent poles into place, unrolling their blankets. Small comforts.

The flap lifted, and Dorian entered. He took one look at her face, knelt, and held his arms out. She collapsed into his chest and wept as he held her and stroked her hair. She cried until she fell into a fitful sleep.

\----

Revas stood in front of Adan's cottage. Solas sat with his back against the wall, under the window, reading a thick tome written in what looked to be ancient Elvish. He looked up at her and met her eyes.

"Well done, Lethallan." He smiled.

Normally she would be pleased at the praise. It was not the first time she'd tried to enter his dream instead of he hers, but it was her first success. "I have news, and I need you to speak to Leliana."

His face shifted and for a moment he looked positively lupine. He closed his book and set it down. "What should I tell her?"

"Tell her that the Venatori plan to assassinate Empress Celene, and raise a demon army to conquer Thedas. Tell her we will be back at Haven to explain what happened in two days at most." Her clothing flickered from her armor, to the soft leathers she wore when not in the field, to Keeper's garb, to a dress. Her control in the Fade was not perfect, and it was actually Solas who was holding them in place in their dreams. "Tell her they call their master the Elder One and that he aspires to Godhood. Tell her when we arrive I will be making a full report to her personally, and to bring a scribe to record it. I will not be writing any of this down myself."

Her clothing shifted again to a version of Grey Warden armor, and stayed for a moment. Solas did not comment; he'd made it clear to her he did not approve of her relationship with Blackwall, but she was clearly traumatized and now was not the time. Instead he nodded. "If there is anything you wish to discuss..."

"No, thank you, Hahren." Her clothing shifted again. This time Crystal Grace was woven into her long braids, and she wore a silver tunic over leggings. "Do you know anything about time magic?"

"Only that the thinking required is entirely linear. It's counterintuitive." He looked to the sky, where the huge fade rift glowed green, making the sunset look a sort of bruise across the mountains. "It's complicated, dangerous magic that always requires blood."

"I am curious about some things. Would you speak with Dorian when we get back?" Her clothing shifted again. Griffon chest plate over a blue dress. "I know nothing about magic, but someone should know what could be done to counteract this kind of thing, should we happen to see it again." With that she disappeared.

Solas greatly approved of that notion, and sidestepped further into the Fade to search for the spirit of Penitence. She would know where to begin.

Revas sat up, clutching at her throat as she coughed roughly. She shook her head to clear the dizziness that always came from walking the Fade, and her world spun diagonally to the left, a wave of nausea twisting her insides. She quickly dragged up the tent flap and ran off to the edge of camp, where she stumbled on a rock and fell to the ground. She turned on her side and vomited noisily, shaking and choking. Cassandra and Varric were on her in an instant, running from the campfire over to where she lay near the stream. 

Revas rolled over onto her hands and knees, chest heaving, bile retching itself out of her body until nothing was left. Cassndra's cool hands and Varric's soothing words helped her to her feet, and they pulled her slowly over to the fire, sitting her on the ground with her back to a boulder. Revas wiped a hand across her mouth and gratefully accepted the waterskin the Seeker offered her. Cassandra sat on one side of her, Varric on the other.

"Rough day?" ventured the dwarf, earning a glare from the Seeker and a weak chuckle from the Herald.

"I may have overextended myself," replied Revas drily. "And I thank you both for your patience. You are.... good friends."

"Of course we are," said Varric, grabbing her right hand. "If we can help you, we will."

Revas took a pull off the waterskin. "You do. Both of you." Flames danced across her vallaslin and she smiled. "Cassandra, you could have had me executed."

"But who would clean up the mess?" She took the waterskin and replaced it with a wooden bowl. 

Revas sniffed at it. "Ram stew." 

Revas ate a few bites. They played cards for a bit before she went to her tent, but her heart was just not in it. She turned over in her mind the impossible possible future, and swore to herself that it would not happen. As she snuggled into her bedroll, she smiled a little at the familiar murmurs of camp. She could vaguely hear the fire crackling and Varric continuing to teach Cassandra Wicked Grace, and the Seeker's lilting accent in the distance lulled her to sleep.

\----

Varric chuckled at Cassandra as he splayed his cards out before her. "Hah. Three serpents and two songs."

She frowned. "Is that better than four daggers and the Angel of Death?"

The dwarf groaned and smacked his hand to his face. He pushed his pile of pebbles over to the Seeker. "It is emphatically not. You're getting better at this."

Cassandra looked pleased, then took the cards to shuffle clumsily and dealt another hand. "Do you think she'll be alright?"

"I think she will. She survived the Conclave didn't she?" He was staring at her hands as she passed out the cards. "She survived you interrogating her. She'll be okay."

Cassandra flung the last card of Varric's hand at him, and it fell on to the grass next to the ring of stones she'd set up around the fire. A log popped and a flaming bit of wood resin landed on the Knave of Serpents. They reached for it at the same time, both of their hands curling over the ember in an effort to brush it off. Their fingers accidentally caught and they both froze. 

The ember was squashed under their hands. It sizzled off the callouses on Varric's palm and he winced before he automatically recoiled. She let go of his hand as he burned on the bright red bit of charcoal., but reached for it again to rub the scorched palm with her thumb. He pulled his hand away sharply and glared at her.

"Makers balls, that hurts!"

Cassandra laughed, "Is my touch so repulsive?"

"I never said that." He grew serious, more than she intended from her question. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. He asked curiously, "Do you think that?"

She sighed (he thought) when she let go of his hand. "Do I think my touch repulses you?" Cassandra picked up her cards and glared at them. Three of daggers, two of serpents. A terrible hand. She idly sorted them while she thought of something to say. "Maybe it frightens you? I couldn't blame you if it did. I have threatened you before, and you know what happens when I lose my temper."

"Hair gets pulled, there's yelling. Books get stabbed." He yawned, stood and crossed the camp to enter his tent. Cassandra sighed and collected the cards, wrapping the twine back around then folding them into the waterproof where Varric kept them. She stood and knuckled her back, grunting about her old bones, then moved to the woodpile to grab another thick branch for the fire. First watch was hers tonight, and if she had to be lonely she didn't wish to freeze.

Lonely? Here was a thought that came unbidden to her as she sat at the edge of the camp, sword on the ground in front of her. She got out her whetstone and spat on it, then began to drag it across her blade, (it made a soothing whisk-whisk sound as it glided across the metal) and she occasionally looked up into the night as she worked. Time passed, and Cassandra thought.

It was impossible for her to be lonely, as surrounded by people as she was. Back at Haven she shared quarters with Leliana and Josephine, and spent her mornings among the recruits practicing, training. Beating the shit out of dummies in all regards. She could not help but grin at that. After that she took lunch in the War Room with Cullen and Josephine, and they would speak of recruiting and funding and visiting dignitaries. Then in the afternoon she read and spent time sparring with the Herald, who was quite capable of exhausting her. They took dinner together with Varric, Dorian, Sera, and Blackwall in the tavern. After one glass of wine, the Seeker would find a bath and bed, then be up before sunrise to do it all again.

When they were on the road, Revas would tell stories of her ancient gods, or Varric would regale them with ridiculous tales of Hawke. Cassandra herself endeavored to teach the Herald about the Chant. Blackwall or Sera bickered with Vivienne, Bull played imaginary chess with Solas. She was surprised to realize that over the last two months, she had... actually made friends.

So lonely was possibly the wrong word. 

A shadow crossed the fire behind her and she tensed, then relaxed when a blue bottle appeared next to her head. "Lava Burst, Seeker?"

She put down her sword and stone and crossed her legs in front of her, taking the bottle out of his hand and taking a tiny sip. "I'm supposed to be on watch." She passed it back and he drank, too, before setting the bottle on the ground between them. 

Varric sat with his feet in front of him, resting his palms behind his back on the ground. He'd brought Bianca with him. He gestured at his crossbow and said, "Two of us a little tipsy is just as good as one of us sober. Plus I'm having a hard time sleeping."

"Bad dreams?" She asked.

"Something like that." He took another swig from the bottle and set it back between them. He was sitting close enough to her that she was extremely aware of the natural heat his body generated. His right hand was on the ground just behind her backside, close enough to brush it with his thumb if he chose. He didn't, of course, probably afraid of her reaction, but the realization of actually wanting him to was what made a blush start to creep up her neck.

Cassandra took a short pull off the bottle and set it down to her right. She said, "If you need to talk about it?"

He averted his eyes and shook his head. He ran his left hand across it, fluffing his ponytail and leaning slightly on his right one, closer to her. "Not a great idea, Seeker."

She turned her head to look at him and her face was framed in the dwindling firelight, the scar on her cheek cast in relief against her glittering green eyes and sharp cheekbones. Maker, she was beautiful. He resisted the urge to put a hand to her cheek, pull her face to his, but could not stop his eyes from dropping to look at her lips for just a moment.

He looked back at her eyes, but she'd seen. She lifted the bottle of Lava Burst, deliberately, and took a sip. She held his gaze with her own as she set the bottle down on her other side. Cassandra stretched her long legs out in front of her and leaned back, nearly on his shoulder, but far enough away that it was clear the next move was his. He reached across her, deliberately pulling her closer as he reached for the bottle. He could feel her shallow breaths on his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her.

And then the fucking bear roared in his ear.

He sprang off the Seeker, grabbing Bianca and firing two rapid bolts at the great rearing beast from his prone position on the ground. The first took it in the stomach, the second pierced its eye even as the Seeker sprang up and drove her sword in under its chin, up through its spine, where the razor sharp point emerged at least six inches. The bear fell unceremoniously in a great heap, right on top of her, exhaled once, and died.

Varric was still on the ground, crossbow up and loaded. The whole "battle" had taken about four seconds. He couldn't help but laugh. He roared, setting Bianca down by his side before laying down himself and just having a good hearty laugh. 

So that is how Lavellan and Dorian found them, Varric chortling like a madman and Cassandra buried under a giant pile of dead bear, swearing at the dwarf to help her, Maker's breath, Varric, you're an ass! "Get this thing off me!"

Also, that is how Varric bestowed on her the mock-title "Bane of All Bears in Ferelden," something she would later insist on having announced by every crier at every major political function.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I realize the whole bear thing is ridiculously improbable. But guess what, I don't care. If I am going to be totally self-indulgent and write me some fan fic, than by the Ancestors, the Qun, the Old Gods, and the Maker, Things are gonna happen my way.
> 
> Thanks for tolerating me.
> 
> Kudos and comments are *my* water. :)


	4. It's Good for Morale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once in awhile it's good to let off some steam. The Seeker and Blackwall make a good show of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you squint really hard, there's another Bob Jordan reference. Also yes, yes I will prolong the tension. Don't worry, gentle reader, plans are in place.

4  
Haven

It had been decided that the debriefing would happen in the War Room. Dorian declined to join them, and so it was only the Herald, Ambassador, Commander, and Spymaster, gathered around the table. The candle on Josephine's clipboard shone brightly, and the small fire in the hearth cracked cheerfully. It was a stark contrast to the look on Revas' face as she described the events at Redcliffe.

Her poise broke in places, but training under her Keeper helped her maintain a narrative. She described the dungeons in detail, finding Varric and Cassandra, described the way their voices hummed with the lyrium. She spoke of finding Bull and Blackwall's bodies strung up in chains in the hallways, of Cullen's skeleton propped up on a stack of logs in a hallway. Leliana's face, her words, the arrows sticking from her body as she fought the demons. Josephine's pen moved as the Herald's lips as she recounted more horrors to the council. 

The way Varric looked at Cassandra as he said, "To my last breath, Seeker."

And Dorian dragging her through the portal, ending the nightmare. Revas explained Alexius' arrest, told them of King Alistair's rejection of the mages, and her offer of alliance with them. She fell silent for a moment, and searched the eyes of each of her advisors in turn. Leliana looked thoughtful. Josephine's eyes shone with tears. One fell down her cheek and she hastily brushed it away. 

The Commander was not looking at the Herald. He simply stared into the hearth for a moment. The leaping flames danced across his face as he leaned forward and pulled a pitcher of Ferelden Pale out of a bucket of snow near his feet. He filled his mug, then looked at Revas questioningly. She nodded and he poured her a draught into one of the other empty mugs on the table.

"Of course," Revas said, "there was a small matter with a bear." She took a sip of her beer and scowled at Cullen. "This is terrible."

He rolled his eyes. "There were bears?"

"Not bears. Just the one, really. Dorian and I turned in early that night. Maybe you all don't know that Varric is teaching Cassandra to play Wicked Grace?" Revas began.

Leliana snorted and flicked her head back to put her hood down. "Is that what they've been doing?" She looked over at Josephine, who was still recovering from the Herald's tale.

Josephine giggled through her tears. The Commander's head was cocked to the side, and Revas could see him trying to work something out for himself. A slow blush crept up his neck and realization dawned. He scowled, horrified. "Ugh."

The Herald held up her right hand to stop the words she knew were coming. "I am not gossiping, Commander."

"Right _now._ " Josephine said. She picked up a golden bowl from her desk, poured sand from it into the last piece of parchment. She waited a moment for the ink to dry, then used a small brush to put the sand back in the bowl. Leliana chuckled and gestured for Revas to continue.

"I was almost asleep, and I could hear them talking, hear the cards being shuffled. A few minutes later, a loud roar, two clicks from Bianca, and then Varric laughing. Of course Dorian and I ran from our tents, but by the time we got to the watchpost, the beast was already dead and Cassandra was stuck underneath it. It had a bolt sticking out of its eye and her sword all the way through its neck, and she was yelling and Varric was just laying on the ground laughing." Revas grinned widely at the memory. "You should hear him tell it, it's so much better."

The mood in the room relaxed after all, and Leliana and Josephine stayed for a few minutes, making small talk and putting the room to rights, filling mugs for themselves from Cullen's pitcher and pulling chairs around the table. The meeting was clearly over, but it was customary that they all stayed and had a drink after a particularly trying discussion. "King Alistair was... Charming." Revas said.

Leliana laughed. "Charming? In a sort of dopey way I suppose. Solona certainly found him so."

Revas reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of thick ivory vellum, and stamped in the wax was the personal seal of Alistair Of Fereldan, Grey Warden and Bastard King. She held it out to Cullen. "I was told to give this to you."

Leliana chuckled at the insignia stamped in the wax. It was the seal he used when sending letters to a friend, and it took the chill off Cullen's bones to see that the King saw him that way. After the Herald's description of the alternate future he did not laugh. He allowed his thumb to brush hers and she colored as he took it out of her hand. The Herald stood, picked up her mug, and downed it in one go. "The King said to tell you he hopes you are well. He also said something about a tavern maid? The one with the ivory skin, he said. Whatever that means."

This time the Commander did smirk a bit. "Of course he would remind me of her. And no, I won't tell the story."

\---

Three candles burned on the table next to the Seeker's bed as she lay there reading Swords and Shields for probably the hundredth time. She tried to let herself be swept up in the tale, but her mind kept drifting back to the night in the foothills, with the bear. Not the bear _specifically_ , but the moments before. Varric's hand on her waist, the dim firelight casting shadows across his chin as his head turned, hiding the scar on the bridge of his nose. The warm spicy tang of liquor on her lips. 

She was certain he had been going to kiss her.

And now she couldn't take her mind off it. Off him. Off of that thick patch of red chest hair that just begged someone to run their fingers through it, his voice like caramel as he told a story, his rakish grin as he told a joke. The spark in his eyes that told her, maybe, there was more to him than smart remarks and a crossbow. Cassandra sat up and closed the book, swinging her feet out to the floor. 

She pulled on some brown leather trousers and tucked her chemise into it, and threw on an old blue tunic. She pulled on some soft boots and blew out the candles. 

The door opened, and Josephine entered as Cassandra left. "Going for a drink?" She asked. She was holding her clipboard, of course, and on it a thick folio full of reports.

"I think not. The yards. I am restless, and a drink just doesn't sound good." The Seeker replied. It might have something to do with running into Varric. Or, more to the point, not wanting to run into Varric. He might be telling stories about bears. Since they had been traveling together, they had slain ten, counting the one after their almost-kiss. She wondered if she was telling people about that now, how he explained it. What was he saying?

The thought bothered her more than she liked. Instead of dwelling on it, she became overwhelmed with the desire to hit things. Cassandra practically stalked down the stairs and out the gate to the training area in front of Haven.

\---

The sun was almost down and Blackwall was feeding the horses when he observed a movement in the corner of his eye. It wasn't one of the Chargers; they had all fled to the tavern for the evening. He turned to see who it was. 

Cassandra strode purposefully to the chest between the tents and pulled out a practice sword, a bundle of twigs tied together to resemble the weight and grip of a Ferelden Captain's longsword. She stood again and marched over to a practice dummy, running herself through some basic drills. Blackwall cracked his neck. It might be interesting to spar with the Seeker, because they used the same weapons but their styles were so different. Her Nevarran finesse might match well against his brute strength and Chevalier tactics. 

He was also not a stupid man, so he waited for her shoulders to relax and her face to look less like a storm cloud before he approached her.

"Good evening, Lady Pentaghast." He said as he arrived. She was finishing a low rolling slash meant to take the hamstrings of a retreating opponent. She popped up, a glint of sweat on her brow, and turned to face the Warden.

"Good evening, Warden Blackwall. Is there something I can help you with?"

He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her thoughtfully. "Do you require a sparring partner?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you certain?" 

"Aye. I've seen you fight."

"Very well. Prepare yourself." She moved a few yards further from the cluster of makeshift barracks, and pulled one of the big staked torches out of the ground. She used a flint from the chest to light it, and planted it in the ground at her feet. It blazed brightly in the twilit grassy field. As Blackwall removed his doublet and untied the collar of his shirt, Cassandra staked up another and lit it about fifteen yards from the first. The Warden pulled out another wooden sword and two small round bucklers. He tossed one to the other warrior and she deftly caught it, easing it on to her arm with practiced grace. 

They stood across from each other between the torches, Cassandra facing the mountains and Blackwall the rift. The horses whinnied in the stables and Harritt was hammering away in his shop. Vaguely in the distance there was singing in the tavern. They saluted each other without a word and began to circle.

Cassandra lunged forward and slashed at Blackwall's legs. He jumped and swung at her shoulder as she brought her shield up to catch the blow, then danced away on the balls of her feet. Blackwall advanced with Bear Mauls the Wolves, and she deflected with a quick bash of her shield before quickly ducking down and rolling out of the way of his swift counter strike. They began to circle again, testing blows against each other's defenses. 

A few of the recruits began to gather as they sparred. Some sat in a semicircle in front of the stables, others leaned against the fence of the smithy. One trotted off into the village. Soon a small crowd assembled, some holding mugs and wine skins.

The bout became technical; both Cassandra and Blackwall slipped into the familiar sword forms of Nevarra and Orlais, and Boar Rushed Down A Hill flowed into Coup de Gras, and River Reed was countered with Line in the Sand. It went on this way for some time, and Blackwall was pleased by the challenge this presented him. He pressed forward, trying to gain leverage with The Squire's Last Resort when the Seeker spun to her right, around the Warden, and hacked at the back of his left leg. She caught him in the knee and it bent, dropping him hard on it as she kicked him in the back of the head. He grunted but used the momentum of her kick to fall forward into a combat roll of his own.

He stood about four yards from her, still holding his weapons, rubbing the back of his head and chuckling. "Well, alright then, my lady."

"I'll be taking your bets now." Called a familiar voice from the back of the crowd.

Cassandra glared in its general direction. "We are not here for your _amusement,_ Varric. We are simply training."

The people made a collective noise of disappointment, but then the dwarf pushed through and said, "Train all you want, Seeker. It's just, it seems you two are the best thing happening in Haven tonight, and I'm sure a little friendly gambling and a spirited sparring match would be good for morale." He grinned at her then, with that sly smile that he was starting to notice worked on her every time. Maybe this was a chance to test that theory.

His eyes twinkled at Cassandra, and the tilt of his upper lip was extremely charming and quite roguish. Her stomach fluttered a little, as it had begun to do when he looked at her that way. She exhaled out her nose and stared at him flatly. The muscle under her left eye twitched once, but to his surprise she said, "Fine."

She and Blackwall waited somewhat patiently as Varric collected coins and took notes on a scrap of parchment. They faced each other again as the betting died down. Cassandra raised her sword and saluted. "Are you ready, Ser Blackwall?"

He held up his weapon. "I am. Don't hold back, my lady."

A smile brushed her lips as she said again, "Very well."

They began to circle each other again, this time in earnest, maybe egged on (only a little) by the cheers of the crowd. This time Blackwall struck first, a ringing blow against the Seeker's iron shield. She took the opportunity to pop him in the forehead with the pommel of her sword and Blackwall reared back and raised his buckler to block the tiny flick of her wrist that would send her blade around to hit him in the temple, shoving her forearm away from his face and punching her in the stomach with his sword hand, palm up, with the blade to the right. She fell back with a grunt and he said, "If you really want to fight, fine." 

The Warden brought his sword up again and swung it in an arc towards her legs. She stepped back quickly and her weapon followed it down, tangling with it and pushing it further away from them. The Seeker's eyes shone with what could have been delight or concentration as she parried forward under Blackwall's guard. Their swords clacked together loudly, over and over, and sword forms were soon forgotten in the rush of a truly challenging battle.

Blackwall had to admit he was glad he'd thought of this. And maybe Varric was right, it could be good for morale. As he methodically sidestepped a blow from his opponent's practice blade, he grinned and brought up his buckler, catching her lightly on the chin, just enough to sting. It would have been a sturdy blow in a real fight, but he found he wanted to continue, and was indicating it in the style of a true Chevalier. 

She nodded and showed him her teeth. Message received, she backed away, and began to calm her breathing. She awaited his next charge with her feet planted firmly in the grass and Blackwall ran at Cassandra full force, hitting her as hard and as fast as he could muster in an attempt to knock her off her feet. Her legs bent with the force of it, but she shoved back, unbowed, and knocked him off balance.

Varric stood behind the bulk of the crowd, and Grim and Skinner hovered behind him, looking about shiftily while the dwarf counted money and calculated the future distribution of wealth. He always did this on paper, just to be safe. It helped to have proof of your math if disgruntled toughs come calling, looking for money they lost fair and square. To keep everything above board, he also included in his notes the percentages he removed for the winner of the bout, Grim and Skinner who were watching the money, and of course, himself. It was a bit of work keeping the bets straight, after all.

It must have been an excellent match if the bulk of the people in Haven crowded around the two staked torches in the grass. They were a noisy bunch, and soon even a few people from inside the Chantry came to see the commotion. Revas strode up to him, fresh from a bath, in a soft grey well-fitted leather bodice and breeches. Her raven hair hung loose around her face, still damp from being washed, and she smelled vaguely of the Crystal Grace soap she favored. "What is all this, Varric?" she asked as she surveyed the crowd. Her eyes matched her leathers and they widened as she took in the two warriors between the torches. "Is that Blackwall? And _Cassandra?_ "

"Indeed it is, Huntress. You see, there I was, in the tavern, minding my own business and having a few pints with the Bull. Rocky came out to the tents to fetch a flask of Dwarven rum he had laying around. He saw them, came back to the tavern and told Sera what was going on out here, she shouted it at the top of her lungs to the whole bar. And here we are." The crowd roared as Cassandra flipped Blackwall into the air ass over teakettle. Varric cocked an eyebrow at her and held out a hand. He grinned cheerfully and said, "Place your bets?"

"Does Cassandra even know people are wagering on her?" 

"Yes, she does. We decided it would be good for morale." Revas watched as Blackwall, still on the ground, rolled out of the way of a long swinging strike from the Seeker. Cassandra's practice blade hit the ground with a snap as Blackwall rolled back to his feet yet again. Their weapons clacked as they resumed attacking each other, and Varric absolutely did not pause to reflect on how lovely and fierce Cassandra looked with her braid askew and fire in her eyes. He turned back to the Herald. "Look around at these people."

And so she did. Among the recruits and craftspeople, Scout Harding perched on Krem's shoulders and cheered as Cassandra bashed Blackwall's shield with her own. Sera was jumping up and down, both fists in the air, and hollering profanities at both combatants. Bull passed her a flask and she took a sip without looking. She swallowed and immediately coughed, and Rocky laughed loudly and clapped her on the back. Leliana and Cullen appeared, out of nowhere. They took in the scene briefly, and the Commander began to raise his hand, as if to stop the match, but the redhead grabbed his arm and whispered something in his ear. He shook his head and turned to argue with her. He stopped when he saw her face.

Revas would not argue with that look either, she decided. And if Leliana of all people let this go, she could too.

She turned from people watching back to the fight, which was becoming a bit more frenzied. Revas would be lying if she said she was not admiring Blackwall's broad shoulders in the torchlight, and thinking of running down them with her fingernails. His muscular limbs moved his weapons as if they were part of him, his sword dipping and whirling in arcs around the Seeker's more delicate, snakelike attacks. The pair had reached a frenzied speed, striking and blocking and carefully deflecting blows. Blackwall lunged out with his sword, balancing on his right foot, right knee bent too low and Cassandra dodged to his left, using her weapon to knock his shield arm aside then quickly placing her left foot on his extended thigh, pushing herself up into the air and bringing her other knee into the side of his head with all that momentum. It knocked him out cold. She collapsed to the ground with him, but was quickly back on her feet, sword ready. When Blackwall didn't stand up, she heaved a great sigh and fell to her knees, exhausted. 

The crowd fell silent at the unexpected and brutal finish. Cassandra rested both hands on the pommel of her sword, point down in the dirt, and put her forehead on her arms. Sweat ran off her in rivulets, and she pulled air into her lungs desperately. Revas approached, a look of concern in her eyes as she knelt next to the Warden. "Don't worry, Herald," Cassandra said breathily, "He will be fine."

Blackwall groaned and sat up as the small throng of people surrounded them. He rubbed his head, yawned, and then scratched at his beard. Chuckling, he looked at the Seeker and said, "Well fought, my lady. Really rang my Chantry bell." Many of Haven's residents were clapping them both on the back in congratulations, and as they staggered to the well for a drink they passed a very busy Varric handing people their winnings. Both warriors gulped water, and Revas put her shoulder under Blackwall's arm and began to walk him off to his cottage. Blackwall saluted, a fist over his heart, and Cassandra nodded back as he left with the Herald.

Cassandra sat, her spine against the cool stones of the well, facing the wall of Haven and sipped at a ladle of cold mountain water. She really should not have agreed to let them gamble on their friendly sparring, but the way Varric smiled at her made her belly warm and her forehead sweat. She wondered if he knew what kind of affect it had on her, if he'd done it deliberately. She poured a small ladle of water over her head and it felt wonderful. She was contemplating going to sit in the nearest snow bank when Varric rounded the fence of the stables. He looked positively smug, and jingled a few coins in his pocket before taking one out and rolling it across his knuckles. "That was marvelous," he said. "You kicked his ass, Seeker."

She tried not to smile. "That last strike was all I had. If it did not work I would have had to yield." She was finally breathing normally again, thank the Maker.

"Ah, but it did, Seeker, and you won." He sat down next to her, still playing with the coin. It was a gold sovereign, and he used his thumb to flick it into her lap. "That's your share, if you'll accept it."

"I cannot. Let it never be said a Seeker of Truth battled for money."

He snorted. "Fair enough. You know I had to at least offer."

She handed the coin to him and said, "Give it to the sisters."

"If you like." He turned his head to meet her eyes. "You were amazing, Seeker. They way you threw him over your shoulder! And then how you caught his sword with yours! You were like...you were a marvel!" Varric could not keep the enthusiasm out of his voice. "I mean, I've seen you fight, but I'm always behind you, and trying to watch my own ass and lay down cover, but tonight I saw..."

Cassandra's eyes were wide. He stopped talking abruptly. "Seeker?"

They were pools, deep black pools a man could get lost in while he stared, and they flickered like obsidian being shaved off a ritual blade. Her lips curved up in a half-smile, and she raised a tired hand to his face. "Flatterer."

"Well, I did have a few bets on the fight lasting until the next bell. So you cost us some money there."

"And now I'm thinking something less flattering." 

Varric stood and held out a hand to help Cassandra up. She let him pull her to her feet, and let go of him to shake out her arms and legs. "How about a beer?" Varric asked. "I'm sure there are a few folks at the tavern who might be happy to see you."

"Varric," she scoffed, "are you trying to use me to get free drinks?"

He put his hands over his heart in mock penitence. "Seeker, I would never!" 

She laughed as she grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the gates, behind the Iron Bull's tent where already there was the giggling of (not one but two of the) serving girls, followed by the rumbling laughter of the Bull himself. Cassandra rolled her eyes and pointedly ignored it, instead pulling Varric towards the tavern, her twinkling gaze on his. 

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So one of the things I want to work on is the execution of fighting/action scenes. If anyone has suggestions I'm up to listen.
> 
> Again, kudos+comments=water.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
